


Blessed are the Peacekeepers

by RainFox88



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Gen, Mild Language, Multi, Sexual Content, Supernatural Elements, Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainFox88/pseuds/RainFox88
Summary: A fateful encounter with a mysterious Stranger shifts the tides of fate. Arthur has a second chance to save those he loves, to stop the demise of the only family he ever knew. To stop the man he swore his loyalty to from his own self-destruction. But even second chances come at a price. (AU Arthur doesn't get TB, ArthurxSadie, and maybe some other pairings if I feel like it.)





	1. I Know You

# Blessed are the Peacekeepers

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Rockstar, its games or characters, etc. This is just for fun, and because I can't get enough of all these awesome cowboys.

### Chapter 1: I Know You

His lungs burned. The bleeding within their chambers did nothing to quench the smolder. He crawled for the gun, hacking more red liquid onto his chin, his limbs weakening each passing second. Every fiber within him hurt. The pulsating thrum of his heartbeat in his ears was chaotic, on the verge of failure.

Arthur didn't let it stop him from going for the gun.

"Oh, Black Lung…you ain't gonna reach that gun," the rat said. "You ain't."

Welted flesh throbbed, the bruising swelled. His eyes were beginning to swell shut. But Arthur didn't waver, urged his dying body closer to the revolver ahead of him. His joints scraped across rock, teary eyes seeing the outline of the gun's muzzle within the first glow of dawn.

"You lost, my sick friend." Micah's pained voice, still laced with contempt, hit his back. "You lost."

Arthur groaned, grimacing as he crawled. Each breath a hiss of pain and remorse.

He thought back to John…his brother, the look of sorrow and admiration he gave Arthur in their final moments together.

_"You're my brother…"_

_"I know."_

He made it. He made it to Abigail and Jack. They would all make it. Sadie and Charles made it. Tilly too. Some of the others. In the end, Arthur felt he achieved the greatest triumph of all.

"In the end, Micah," Arthur croaked. He was so close to the gun. "Despite my best efforts to the contrary…it turns out I've won."

His body trembled, his shallow breaths rapid and unsteady. He could feel the rat's form skulking behind him. His despicable aura hovered over Arthur like a plague.

A few more heaves and he made it. Arthur reached bloodied fingers out to grip the gun, a new resolve burning within him to finish Micah. His final goal.

"Goddamn you," Arthur wheezed as he grasped the gun. He needed to finish this before he died.

His fingers were crushed beneath the weight of a dark boot and he cried out. He hadn't noticed anyone else's arrival, and his first thought: _Pinkertons_. They were here to stop them.

"It is over now…Arthur."

That voice. His heart clenched, hurting more than the burn of his lungs or the bruises or the broken bones.

He gasped for breath, trembling, as his eyes rose. Dutch glared down at him, angry, but worse of all, _disappointed_.

"It is over."

The inner turmoil that welled up within him, the regret, the sadness, the betrayal; It hurt so much more than the pain that racked his dying body. At this point, Dutch would just have to do the finishing blow and shoot Arthur himself to make this tragedy come full circle.

Arthur collapsed on the rocky ground, gasping, tears staining his bloodshot eyes. "Oh, Dutch…he's a rat."

Despite it all, Arthur's devotion still remained. He begged his mentor, his leader, the man he loved like a father, to see. To listen. To trust. To turn things right.

The anger on Dutch's face fell away, replaced by confliction and remorse.

"You know it and I know it."

Dutch stared at Arthur as he rasped, his battered body shuddering. Dutch's boot remained on the gun, his form firm but his face contorted in grief and uncertainty. His eyes softened under the brim of his fedora, his lips bunching within his mustache, taking in Arthur's pitiful state.

"He's sick," Micah said, but Arthur couldn't see him. "He's dyin'…He's talkin' crazy."

In the distance, as his hearing fizzled and rang, Arthur could hear Pinkertons closing in. Arthur knew he was dying, but felt maybe it would be from a broken heart over the disease that had consumed him.

He stared up at Dutch, pleading. "I gave you all I had."

Dutch swallowed, still conflicted, still in denial possibly. More tears wept from Arthur's puffy eyes as he tried to breath, tried to keep enough strength to talk.

"I did."

His once proud leader opened his mouth. "I…"

Dutch stepped off of Arthur's hand, stepped back, quarreling within his head and, for the first time since Arthur had known him, was _speechless_.

Arthur felt his heart break again. It was too late. It was too late for Dutch.

Arthur rolled onto his back, the fight and will within him suddenly gone.

"I-" Dutch tried again, his voice somber and confused.

"Come on," Micah hissed.

Arthur saw the rat take a few steps closer to them, his eyes on Dutch like a prize.

"Dutch. Let's go, buddy," he said, arms beckoning their broken leader. "We made it!" A small laugh. "We won! Come on!"

Arthur was too tired and in too much agony to be disgusted at Micah's begging. His beating heart spasmed, overloaded, his breaths coming out in small gasps. Dutch looked at Micah, and Arthur thought maybe his father-figure looked as though he curled his lip at the rat. But maybe it was a reverie from dying.

Dutch's eyes fell back on Arthur, and he could feel their gaze.

In a dying stupor, Arthur weakly smiled. "John made it…he's the only one."

Dutch came closer that time, nearly standing over Arthur. There was a flash in his dark eyes when he heard about John, but the confliction still remained.

"Rest of us…no," Arthur continued. "But…I tried…In the end, I did."

His senses were distorting, his insides twisting but he was becoming numb to the pain. Only his heart hurt. He could feel a pull coming over him, and he couldn't decide whether he was shivering from being cold or from dying.

"C'mon, let's go," came Micah's voice, getting softer. "We can make it."

Arthur felt Dutch's presence leave his side. He was going with Micah…

"Come on, Dutch!" Micah yelled, an aggressive plea. "Come on!"

There was a frustrated cry from the rat, and all went quiet.

Arthur slowly blinked, dazed. Dutch abandoned him, and he felt the final stab to his heart, but he was also relieved. Relieved his father-figure had abandoned Micah as well.

Gathering the last bit of strength, Arthur dragged his body to the edge of the mountain, laying on a slope to await his death. His breaths were ragged, his battered body numb and cold. He was about to close his eyes, but felt the warm blaze of morning rays.

He looked over. The sun ascended from behind distant mountains, their golden glow dyeing the sky in hues of pink and orange. He stared at the beautiful sunrise, eyes glazing over.

His heart was broken, haunted by the events that tore his family apart. But as he stared at the rising sun, a sense of peace fell over him, and he thought of John. Of Abigail and Jack. Of those that were able to escape. They had a chance. They didn't just survive, but now they could _live_. Arthur knew their freedom was the greatest gift he could receive before the end.

The warm rays splashed across his pale face, and he gave one last breath.

_Take care of them…brother._

The last thing he saw was not the sunrise, but a whitetail buck grazing in a field. Its head, full of antlers, raised up and looked at him with deep, soulful eyes.

*******************************************************************************************************************************************

"Arthur."

He twitched, trembled, mumbled something.

"Arthur!"

Someone was shaking him. Arthur gasped for air, raising up on his cot, his body full of cold sweat. He panicked, looking around.

He saw the camp shadowed within the trees, saw the silhouettes of gang members in the early hours. Horseshoe Overlook was chilly in the mornings, especially before dawn, and he wondered if that was why he trembled.

"Arthur? Are you alright?"

It was Hosea. He was the one to shake Arthur awake, to get him out of whatever kind of delirium he had been in. Arthur stared at his father-figure and mentor, only the nearby lantern splashing any sort of light on them.

He looked Hosea up and down as he panted, fear and wonder mixing like he was a ghost in front of him. He stared at his chest, although he wasn't sure what he was looking for, but felt relief on seeing Hosea's chest rise and fall with breaths.

Hosea was concerned, stepping back to give Arthur some air. "Jesus, son. You were having a nightmare."

"W-What?" Arthur mumbled, rubbing a hand over his sweaty face.

"It's not like you. Do you need some medicine?"

"No-No, I'm fine," Arthur said, slowly calming down.

Hosea didn't look convinced, folding his arms. "What's going on?"

Arthur didn't know. He tried to think back. It had to have been a nightmare, but he couldn't remember it. He put a hand to his chest. His heart hurt, but for some reason he felt relieved to be able to breath. The haunting urge to cough lingered, but as he calmed down, it subsided.

"I guess…too much to drink last night."

Hosea furrowed his brows. "Whiskey doesn't give you nightmares. Are you sure you're alright?"

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He sighed, looking around. He hoped he didn't alert the whole camp. He didn't want to draw attention to himself. "Probably all the goddamn stress from the mess we're in."

"I understand how you feel," Hosea said, still looking concerned. "If you need anything, just holler, alright? Talk to me if you need to, will ya?"

Arthur put a palm up to acknowledge him as he recovered. "Sure. Thanks, Hosea. I'm gonna get some coffee."

Like a worried father, Hosea tailed him to the stew pot before finally slipping off to the freshly started campfire. Arthur poured him a cup of coffee, eyes looking around the camp while he tried to get his thoughts in order.

He felt fine. His body was healthy, undamaged. He wasn't sure why he thought of that first. Once his breathing and nerves had calmed, he became increasingly confused in what had caused him to awake with such dread in the first place.

He hadn't had a nightmare in years. Not since Isaac…

He pushed the thought away, taking a gulp of burning coffee.

"Hi, Arthur!"

He jumped, turning, almost spilling his coffee.

Tilly withdrew, frowning. "Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya."

Why was he so jumpy? Arthur knew that Tilly was wondering the same thing. He cleared his throat, greeting her with a smile.

"Hey, Tilly. Sorry, was just thinkin'."

_"You're a good girl…you live a good life now, ya hear?"_

That was his voice he heard in his head, but he couldn't recall when he had said those words.

She returned the smile, stooping to get some coffee.

"Funny, you don't do that too often," she joked.

He laughed. "You're right about that." He dipped his head at her, trying to tip his hat but realized it wasn't on his head. "S'cuse me, my lady."

He retreated away to be by himself. He took his coffee to the cliffs that overlooked the Heartlands, sitting down to enjoy the view as the sun started to peak out of the horizon. The morning rays splashed the sky with pink and gold and a bit of red. It looked eerily but peacefully familiar. But he didn't know why. He had seen tons of sunrises.

Arthur racked his brain, trying to remember the nightmare. He grumbled in annoyance. He wasn't one to dawdle over dreams or memories, especially when there was work to do. But, for whatever reason, it seemed crucial that he recalled it.

Arthur rubbed his eyes. He finished his coffee, deciding he should forget about the dream for now and worry about the day ahead.

As he turned to head back up into camp and return his mug, he saw John walking down his way with his own cup. He looked surprised to see Arthur, greasy dark locks messy and framed around the fresh, sutured lacerations on his face.

Arthur froze. He had the undeniable urge to hug John. He was relieved to see him. He walked over, smiling, but then was lost, faltering. He couldn't understand why.

_"What about loyalty?"_

_"Be loyal to what matters."_

John looked at him, suspicious. "Arthur, what's up? You okay?"

Arthur scowled, rubbing his ear. "Yeah, I'm fine, Marston. 'Bout damn time ya got up!"

He walked passed him and stalked for camp.

"Good mornin' to you too," John grumbled.

Arthur couldn't understand what overcame him. Being nice to Marston wasn't something that came easy to him anymore. Not since John abandoned the gang for selfish reasons for a year, leaving his wife and child behind. Choosing to neglect his role as a father and raising Jack. John had a choice, had the fortune to be there. Arthur didn't get that chance. God, or whatever forces that ruled this world, took that away from him.

He and John had been really close before Jack was born. And it was only because John was their leader's favorite son that he was even welcomed back into the gang with opened arms to begin with.

So where the hell did that love and loyalty and sudden relief he felt when he saw John come from? There was no denying it now. Arthur was sick. Mentally sick. He ate something. He shouldn't have eaten that mushroom Sean presented to him while he was drunk last night.

The sun lit the camp with warm, morning rays, and the camp grew more active as members awoke and started to work. Arthur dumped his mug into the wash bin and stamped towards his tent, eager to get his supplies and hat and leave for a bit. He really needed to clear his head.

"Arthur!"

He froze. The dread. It struck his heart like a bite of electricity. He slowly turned, saw Dutch coming straight for him. Tears welled in his eyes and he wanted to turn away, to get out of there, but his undying commitment to his leader kept him in place.

_"I gave you all I had…"_

"Hey, son," Dutch greeted, a cigar curled between two fingers. "You alright? Hosea said you weren't yourself. Said you looked as though you saw a ghost when you saw him."

"I-" Arthur trailed off.

His heart…It hurt. The feeling that overcame him, it left him confused. Like Dutch had said something awful to hurt him, but he did no such thing.

Dutch narrowed his eyes, concern lingering on his face as he looked Arthur over.

"Why?" Arthur asked him.

Dutch raised an eyebrow. "Why what?"

Arthur was lost, lowering his eyes. "I…don't know."

"That ruckus with Cornwall in Valentine was a close call. Did it unnerve you? Do you need to rest? I can send someone to town for medicine, I-"

"I'm fine, Dutch," Arthur said. "I just had a dumb nightmare, is all. I'll be fine once I get out there and start workin'."

Dutch didn't look convinced, just the same as Hosea, squinting an eye at Arthur.

He didn't fight him on it though, and Arthur was thankful for that. "If you say so, my son. Look, do something for me, alright? Go get Strauss's debt from that Mr. Downes gentleman. He's been whining in my ear since yesterday. And then come straight back and get some rest."

"But-"

Dutch put up a hand, cutting him off. "No ifs, ands, or buts, Arthur. It's an easy job. I don't want you overdoing it. Clear your head. I would feel better if you came back and rested. Especially since we'll need to move camp soon. Can you do that for me?"

Arthur sighed, slowly nodding. "Sure."

Dutch smiled, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. His touch made Arthur's chest hurt. "Thank you, son. I'm just concerned, is all. Get back soon or I'll send Charles to hunt you down. Don't think I won't."

"Oh, I'm sure you will."

"We'll make it, Arthur. Don't worry."

_"John made it…he's the only one…"_

Arthur shook the distant words from his head, focusing. He nodded at Dutch. "I know."

He left Dutch's side, an unsettling feeling coming over him, like a knife would sink into his back any second.

As he gathered up his weapons and supplies for the trip, he recalled the events since Blackwater. It had been a bizarre few weeks since coming down from the snowy mountains. Getting Sean back, begrudgingly releasing Micah from the Strawberry jail and the hell that followed, the shootout in Valentine with Cornwall's men, even going fishing with Jack – which started off pleasant enough – turned sour with the arrival of the two Pinkerton agents. He almost got ate by a giant, disfigured grizzly bear and saw Mary again. Among the other things, Arthur was ready to move on. After the nightmare he awoke from that still prickled underneath his nerves, he was assumed they had outstayed their welcome at Horseshoe Overlook.

Arthur strapped his saddlebags and guns onto his horse and mounted up. The bay and white paint Tennessee Walker had proven to be a good horse. The stallion had been Mrs. Adler's husband's horse. He recalled her saying that his name was Hal or something, but Arthur had taken to calling him Ace. Sadie said the horse had only ever liked Jake, and only tolerated her, and still couldn't believe the horse bonded to Arthur like it did.

"You must have a good heart like my Jake did," she had told him.

Arthur snorted at that.

Whatever the case, the steed was strong and reliable with personality to boot. It was a good replacement to Arthur's old girl, Boadicea. The mare had been lost in the mess at Blackwater. Damn, did he miss that horse.

"C'mon boy," Arthur said, patting the horse on the neck, and rode out of camp.

*******************************************************************************************************************************************

Arthur kept his horse at a slow trot as he kept on the path to his destination.

He had come down the plateau into the valley and now followed the trail alongside the Dakota River.

A quick glance over his map reminded him where he needed to go, according to what Strauss told him days ago. It would be a couple hour ride at his pace, but Arthur needed the fresh air and the time to himself.

He barely tipped his hat to a traveling passerby on the road, he was so caught up in his thoughts. There was a weight that pooled in his chest, as though some inner phantom pulled at him.

He avoided thinking about the nightmare, the odd feelings that crept over him while talking with certain people afterward. He inhaled deeply, taking in the fresh air, the smell of pine and moist dirt and prairie flowers. He appreciated the wildlife on his ride, their beauty and grace, and the way it made his soul feel more at peace.

But the closer he got to the Downes's Ranch, the more he felt sick to his stomach. A burning sensation filled his lungs, like he had smoked way too many cigarettes. At least, that was the only thing he could compare it to right off the back. But the burn was unpleasant, and also familiar.

Maybe Dutch was right. Maybe he really did need to get some rest.

He sighed. Arthur would get to the Downes's Ranch, collect the debt from Thomas Downes, and return to camp. It would be simple enough. The man was not a threat. Weak and timid. Arthur could beat it out of him if he had to.

_"My husband's not cold in the ground and you've come back here."_

_"He didn't have a choice. He was good and he did good. There wasn't no choice in that."_

_"And you've as good as killed him yourself, and don't kid yourself…you had a choice."_

His ears rang. Loud. The woman's voice…he didn't know that voice, but he heard those words before. They were faded in his head, whispers within the dark corners of his mind. Arthur winced, grabbing his head, suddenly burning hot.

"Whoa," he mumbled, pulling on the reins to halt his horse.

He got off Ace. The sun had rose high, warming the valley and lifting the morning fog. The tall rock formations of Caliban's Seat cast shadows across the road but didn't quite reach the river.

Arthur made his way down to the water, the nausea churning his belly. He reached down and splashed water on his face, a small groan escaping his lips. The Dakota River's current was a peaceful tune, easing his ringing ears. The ringing soon waned, but a headache had taken its place.

Arthur concentrated on his breathing, and slowly started to feel better, his eyes watching the river, the sparkle that glinted off the morning rays.

"You okay there, friend?"

Startled, Arthur whipped around. He hadn't heard anyone approach. The river pebbles and sand weren't a type of terrain that allowed for silent steps.

A man stood not too far away, tall like Arthur and wearing a black three-piece suit with a top hat. Arthur had to take a double look, as he looked very similar to Trelawny. His thick mustache framed a concerned frown.

Arthur wiped his wet hands on his pants, slowly nodding. "Sure, mister. I reckon I ate somethin' that didn't agree with me."

Arthur looked the man over again, suddenly on guard. He was reminded of Trelawny at first, though the man had a different voice. But now Arthur was sure. He was sure he knew this man from somewhere.

"Do I…know you?"

The man in the black suit smiled as though Arthur had made his day recognizing him. "Many people do…but yes. Yes, Arthur, you know me. I know you. Quite well."

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. "How do you know my name? Who are you?"

"Well, if I know you, wouldn't it make sense to know your name, Mr. Morgan? You know me from all over. You've forgotten me at times, or outright cast me away. But our last meeting wasn't that long ago."

Arthur didn't recall having seen this man recently, if ever. He was a complete stranger, but his presence screamed familiar to Arthur.

"Whatchu talkin' bout, pardner?" Arthur growled. "Explain."

The Strange Man chuckled, his eyes glancing out across the river for a moment. "You're as easy to agitate as John was."

"John?" Arthur echoed, looking back towards Horseshoe Overlook. "You one of his buddies? You sure as hell don't look it."

"Nah, you were long dead when I talked to John. He's a lot different later than he is now. You would be proud. Although, in the end, even he couldn't escape his past. Same as you."

Arthur glared at him, unsettled. "You speakin' in riddles, friend. I think it's best if we part ways now."

Arthur pushed by him to head for his horse. He wanted far away from this stranger. He felt the familiar dread from his nightmare return to his chest. He gripped his breast, suddenly unable to breathe.

"That nightmare did quite a spell on you, yes?"

His eyes widened and he looked behind him. The man was gone. Cursing, he looked ahead, and yelled in surprise when the mysterious man appeared right before him.

"What the hell?" Arthur hissed. "How…How did you know 'bout that?"

"I know many things, Arthur. I know all that is to transpire once you've collected the debt from Thomas Downes. All the hardships you'll endure, all the deaths and betrayals. But redemption, friend…There is redemption."

"You're crazy. Get away from me."

"Listen to me…when the time comes, you got to run and don't look back…This is over."

Arthur froze. A chill swept across his skin and he recalled the words. Knew he had spoken them. But to whom? And when?

Arthur stared dumbfounded at the Strange Man. "I…said those words…I think."

His acquaintance nodded. "You did. Near the end. To John."

"What do you mean?"

"It's yet to happen, and yet, you've already experienced it."

"I don't understand."

The Strange Man smiled. "It isn't meant to be understood, my friend. In another reality your time has long passed, and another you've yet to be born. I watched John send his family to safety before being gunned down years after you took your final breaths watching the sunrise. I've seen you weep over your mother's grave when you were just a boy, and I've also watched little Jack Marston grow into a man bent on vengeance. I saw John avenge your death at the cost of allowing his past to catch up with him."

Arthur didn't know what he was saying, but as he spoke those words, he saw visions in his head. Fuzzy, silent visions of those lives.

"What do you want from me?" Arthur asked, his voice cracking.

"I want to give you a chance, Arthur. A chance to relive what's to come. To save your friends…to save yourself. You're many things, but you are a good man. You got your redemption in the end, and yet…I think you can still find redemption on a different path."

Arthur shook his head, confused, a knot in his stomach. "I don't…know what you mean."

The Strange Man extended his hand, and Arthur saw a large stack of bills. "Here's what Thomas Downes owes for his debt…and then some. Leave the family be, Arthur. Return to camp and carry on. But be wary…listen to your heart. Heed the familiar and dreadful feelings and voices that come to you, for they will be your only indication on what's to transpire. And you may have a chance to change what's meant to be. I'll be around time to time to talk and check up on you."

Arthur cautiously reached out and took the money, mind racing, trying to understand. He stared at the cash in his hands, knowing he had to have lost his head somewhere. He was going crazy.

"The King will always lose his way if he loses his Compass. Don't let him seek solace with the Viper, for it will unleash the darkness that lurks within his heart."

When Arthur looked up, the Strange Man had vanished. Arthur looked around, jaw slack, but he was nowhere to be found. Arthur was mystified, lost, reeling around what he had said.

"We'll talk again soon, my friend," he heard the stranger say, but there was no physical entity to produce the voice.

Arthur slipped the money into his satchel and went to Ace. He mounted the horse and kicked him into a gallop, pulling him towards Horseshoe Overlook. Arthur was spooked, but he was mostly confused.

The Strange Man was obviously not of this world, but Arthur couldn't pinpoint what he was. He didn't believe in anything personally, but his mind considered God or even the Devil. Hell, could've been Death for all he knew. He was something, that's for sure.

Or maybe Arthur was losing his goddamn mind and he hallucinated the whole thing.

He really needed some rest.

He spurred his horse faster, onward in the direction of camp. He was eager to leave this area, eager to lay down and rest and forget this whole damn thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My newest multi-chapter RDR fic! :D I'll do my best to give steady updates! If you've played the first RDR then you know who the Strange Man is, although we can only guess who/what he really is! He'll play an important role in this story, as Arthur lives through the collapse of his gang/family once again, although now he has a chance to stop it, save his friends, if he heeds the Strange Man's warnings...
> 
> If you haven't yet, check out my short multi-fic RDR story Oh, Brother that tells how Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur met John Marston when they were younger! :3
> 
> 'Til next time, folks! ;)


	2. Familiar

### Chapter 2: Familiar

Arthur felt he could breathe again, felt the unease that had sunk its teeth into his skin withdraw once he returned to Horseshoe Overlook. He hitched his horse, leaning in to smell the horse scent, patting the steed down with a mumbled, "Good boy."

He let his eyes scan across the camp. He saw the familiar faces lounging about or doing chores. He could smell the stew for tonight cooking, could hear the clucking of the chickens behind Pearson's wagon.

He let the words of the Strange Man fade away in his aching head, and pulled out the money from his satchel to take to the donation box. He had been so confused and spooked by his exchange with the man in the black suit, he realized maybe he came back sooner than what he should have, and hoped no one would suspect anything.

Hearing Uncle ramble off a crazy story, camp members' laughter, and even Reverend Swanson's slurred singing all eased him. He felt better now than he had when he awoke this morning. Hell, even the bickering between John and Abigail nearby grounded him, told him everything was fine. Everything was normal.

Arthur went around behind Dutch's tent and tossed the money into the box like it was cursed. He didn't want anything else to do with it. He would tell Strauss the collection was made and would let this whole thing rest.

Out of sight, out of mind, as Uncle would always say.

Speaking of rest, Arthur knew he should take Dutch's advice and go to sleep, but he was no longer tired, no longer reeling from those dreadful feelings he had this morning. Instead, he felt some time alone on the cliff overlooking the Heartlands with his journal would do him some good.

He made his way towards the cliff, stopping by to see Strauss as the scrawny man scribbled on a parchment.

"Hey, I got the money from Mr. Downes. It's been turned in so make sure you scratch it off in your records," Arthur greeted.

The Austrian looked up from his writing, a sleazy smile forming on his face as he peered through his spectacles. "Ah, good, Herr Morgan. I take it he gave you the run around as he did with me? Squabbling little toad."

" _You disgust me. And you shame us…if we could be shamed anymore than we already are."_

" _You and me, we ain't decent…but those folk…they was."_

Arthur ignored the faint words in his head, feeling the lingering ache in his skull. "I got the money, alright? Does it matter? Just write it down, and stop loanin' money to fools who can't pay!"

Strauss raised his eyebrows, taken aback by Arthur's snippy answer. "I…I'll be sure to, Mr. Morgan. You look tired from your trip. Perhaps you should rest?"

Arthur waved him off, turning towards the cliff. "I'll do that, thanks."

He only took a few steps before someone called his name. The voice pierced his back, clamping down like the jaws of a man-eating predator. He tensed up, suddenly not feeling too well as he turned around.

Micah strolled over, a crooked smile forming, blue eyes that burned with unbridled mayhem catching Arthur like a trap. He spit out some tobacco, eyes staying on Arthur.

Arthur gritted his teeth, sickness swelling within him, like he had been kicked in the stomach and was about to puke. He sensed the familiar dread from this morning once more, but with it he felt his nerves burn afire with hate. Hate he had never known before.

"You're back early, cowpoke. You musta rode like the wind to get there and back. Did the feller give ya any trouble?"

"It ain't none of your business."

Micah chuckled, a low, venomous sound that sickened Arthur further. "Still constipated from this mornin', huh? I heard 'bout your little nightmare or whatever. Come now, Morgan, we're far too deep in this game to let our consciousness catch up. Don't turn yellow now."

"Watch it," Arthur advised.

The warning just enticed Micah, and he stepped closer to Arthur, as if to goad him. "Watch what exactly, cowpoke? I'm just givin' friendly advice."

" _I believe in winners and losers…and nothing else besides."_

The hate burned within him like the tip of a branding iron scalding flesh. Arthur wasn't sure where it came from. He never liked Micah, never trusted him, and never understood what Dutch saw in him. But this…this was different. This brought back all those terrible feelings from this morning, and he couldn't ignore it.

Arthur slammed his fist into the side of Micah's face. The punch made Micah stumble, and he laughed, holding his jaw.

"You gotta do better than that, Morgan."

The taunt riled him. He moved in and punched Micah a few more times. Micah took the swings, but countered with his own that caught Arthur in the gut. His arms were snagged before he could do anymore damage to Micah. Familiar voices yelled in his ears, but Arthur saw red when he glared at the sneering Micah. He fought whoever had their hold on him.

"Let me go, let me go right now, dammit!"

"Arthur, what the hell has gotten into you?!" Javier yelled.

"Arthur, knock it off. This ain't like you!" John snapped.

They each held one arm, trying to hold him back, but Arthur's strength slid them across the dirt as they tugged. Several camp members came around, drawn in by the sounds of the fight.

Micah laughed, amused as he spat out reddish-brown saliva that was blood mixed with tobacco. "It's alright boys, he's just delusional. Still messed up from his bad dream this mornin'!"

"Shut yer goddamn mouth ya fuckin' turd," Sean snapped as he and Bill came into view from Arthur's right side. "Ya probably deserved the ass beatin' in the first place."

"Arthur, calm down!" John said, more pleading than demanding this time.

"What in God's name is goin' on over here?"

It was Hosea, approaching with Pearson and Grimshaw, and he looked miffed. A single glance over of the situation, and he pointed at Arthur.

"Arthur, stop this at once."

Arthur stopped. Javier and John slowly let him go, but remained ready to grab him if he lunged for Micah once more. Micah sneered at Arthur, blue eyes wild and amused.

"Yeah, cowpoke. You better listen to your papa like a good little boy."

Micah stepped towards Arthur with that jeer, clapping his hands. Sean balled a fist next to him, ready to jump in next as always.

Hosea didn't have time to say anything else. The gang parted to allow their leader through and he stopped beside Hosea and Susan, a hardened scowl creasing his face.

"What the hell is going on?"

Dutch's angered voice caught them by surprise. Micah tossed up his hands in surrender, slinking backwards away from Arthur.

"Boss, I don't know what happened! He just went off on me!"

"That's a fuckin' lie if I ever heard one! That ain't what I saw!" Sean drawled.

"Sean, shut up," Dutch snapped.

Arthur straightened his jacket, still glaring at Micah, but he tore his eyes away to look to Dutch and Hosea. Their disappointed glares hit him hard, and they awaited an explanation. Arthur suddenly felt like a child in trouble in front of his parents. It killed his temper real quick.

"I...I uhh…"

Arthur didn't know what to say. He had never lost his temper in such a way before. He had never felt such raw hatred before. Shame crept over him, embarrassed that he went off in such a way. He was the top enforcer of the gang. It was his job to prevent these kinds of fights in the first place.

He wasn't about to make an excuse. This fell on him and him alone. "Yeah, I went off on him."

"Why?"

"I don't rightly know."

Dutch heaved a sigh. "Arthur, you're supposed to prevent fights, not start them."

"I know."

"I-I just want to say, that I was, uh, just tryin' to have a conversation with 'ol Arthur, and I may have unintentionally offended him in some way. For that, I'm really sorry."

Arthur narrowed his eyes on Micah. "Yeah, I'm real sorry too."

The venom in his voice was more noticeable than he intended. Dutch nodded at Grimshaw with a small wave of his hand before his eyes went back to Arthur.

Grimshaw shoved nearby onlookers and hollered, "Alright, enough gawkin'! Back to work, all of you!"

Arthur caught the worried glances of John, Javier, and Sean before they reluctantly left his side. He overheard Karen mumble, "Fucker deserved it anyway."

Micah stepped towards Dutch with a poorly attempted appeasing smile. "Boss, I just-"

Dutch held up a hand to cut him off. "Just stay out of trouble, Mr. Bell."

"Of course, boss."

Micah slunk away after one last glare at Arthur. Dutch rubbed his temple, sighing as Hosea glared at Micah's back as he retreated like a kicked dog.

"Come on, let's go to my tent for a moment," Dutch said.

Arthur followed the two men who raised him. They entered Dutch's tent, although Arthur could feel everyone's stares on him. Molly was in the tent reading, and Dutch cleared his throat.

"Molly, my dear, could you give us a minute?"

She closed her book, looking between the men in light confusion. "Sure, Dutch."

She left the tent, and Dutch closed the drape to give them some privacy. Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to figure out exactly what came over him. Someone patted his back, and it brought him out from his thoughts and he saw Hosea, a reassuring smile accenting his aged face.

Dutch sighed. "You don't look well, son. I-I thought a ride out to collect that debt would clear your mind. What's bothering you? Talk to us."

Arthur groaned inwardly. He would've much preferred getting a scolding from Dutch and Hosea over this. He looked between them, both looking concerned and waiting for him to open up.

"What was that dream about? You obviously need to talk about it…get it off your chest," Hosea said.

Arthur shook his head. "I don't even remember it! I…I've just bit off more than I can chew these past few days, is all. And-And I just took it out on Micah."

Hosea snorted, unconvinced. "You mean the little shit just finally goaded you into giving him a beating."

"Hosea."

"What?" Hosea grumbled, glaring at his old friend. "It's the truth. All he has done these past few weeks is get us into more trouble! And now that he's back, he's done nothing but antagonize camp members. You know my feelings about him, Dutch. Arthur feels the same way."

"There's no doubt he started it," Dutch appeased, showing his palms with a slight upcurve of his lips. "I ain't disagreeing 'bout his behavior as of late, Hosea. He's on thin ice, and he knows it."

"He sure ain't acting like it."

"Look," Dutch said, looking between Hosea and Arthur, hands going to his chest. "I'll have a chat with him about his-"

"No!" Arthur snapped.

He startled them both. He blinked and swallowed, realizing his outburst, and not exactly understanding the reason behind it. Hosea looked more concerned now, but Dutch's dark brows furrowed more into suspicion.

"No, what?" he asked.

"Don't talk to him. It's fine, Dutch. It's on me."

"It ain't fine. You are worrying me, son. Talk to me. Have I asked too much of you as of late?"

"No, 'course not."

"I know we've been through a lot these past few weeks, but we are slowly recuperating, Arthur. Everything's gonna turn out alright."

"I know."

Dutch put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, his face softening. "Then please, get some rest."

Arthur nodded, looking away from them and slipping out of the tent. He went straight over to his own tent. He saw Sean and Lenny waiting for him. Arthur grumbled, glancing over his shoulder. Dutch had opened his drape, and now he and Hosea watched him. Their heads were slightly turned towards each other as they whispered.

Sean folded his arms as Arthur came up. "You better've not got in trouble."

Arthur chuckled. "And what if I did? You gonna go give Dutch a piece of your mind?"

"I would if I had to!"

Lenny snickered beside him. "Uh-huh sure, Sean."

"You callin' me a liar? I'll give that fuckin' stook a piece of my mind as well!"

"You ain't givin' no one a piece of nothin'," Arthur said, pointing a finger at Sean's face. "Keep outta it."

Sean scowled. "Hey, I'm just tryin' to watch out fer ya."

" _I ain't just some dumb kid. I've lived a lifetime of shit already."_

Those inner words brought some kind of sadness over him, but also a familiar respect. Arthur smiled, reaching out and playfully smacking Sean's head.

"I know, I know. Just don't wantcha to get in trouble. It'll be taken care of. Leave it be, kid. You too, Lenny."

Lenny dipped his head. "Whatever you say, Arthur. We were just checking on you."

" _He taught me to judge people for what they are. Not how they look. But one thing he couldn't teach me was…how not to care."_

"I'm fine. I appreciate it, just get outta here before you get in trouble now. Go on, get."

Arthur watched them go before moving over to his cot. He took off his gun-belt and satchel, even his hat. He sat on his bed and rubbed his face with a groan. He looked over the camp. He was sure his scuffle with Micah was the camp's main gossip right now. He didn't care.

Arthur lied down on his cot and went to sleep.

* * *

His sleep was afflicted with strange and familiar voices, but none of their words and pleas and demands made sense. He heard crying and screams, heard accusations of betrayal and mourning of unknown faces. A terrible cough echoed within the shadows of his dream, and Arthur felt the burn in his chest as he slept. He saw blurry images of blood on his hands, saw an old black and white photo of the gang ripped in half.

" _Aside from my Jake…you're the best man I've known."_

" _When I was a kid out east, they said there were dragons in the west. Well…I guess we found them. Found them or made them or…became them."_

" _You saved my life more than once…to give mine for yours…it's as it should be."_

" _My whole life I tried to fight change. It's a waste…I see that now…"_

" _There is nothing to be afraid of, Mr. Morgan. Take a gamble that love exists…and do a loving act."_

" _There's a good man within you, Arthur. But he is wrestling with a giant. And the giant, wins, time and again."_

" _Ain't never gonna see my son grow up, ain't never gonna atone for my sins, ain't never nothin' but gonna get shot for 'em. I hope God can forgive me for what I done on this earth 'cause ain't much I'm proud of. And a whole lot I hope he's forgotten about."_

Arthur was in a large boat of some kind. He looked out across the water, looking for any sign of land, but there was none. Looking down into the river, it was the darkest, murkiest waves he'd ever seen. So muddled, not even his reflection shone.

He awoke to someone lightly shaking him, his name coming off their lips in a gentle call. Arthur raised up, the fresh, confusing dreams swirling in his head. He rubbed one eye, peering at Hosea as his father figure held out a bowl of steaming stew.

"I didn't want to wake you, but you need to eat," Hosea said.

Arthur gave a grateful nod, taking the bowl. "Thanks."

Hosea leaned on the table across from Arthur as he dug into the stew. It was dark now, and Arthur could hear Javier playing his guitar, singing in Spanish to others around the campfire. Nearby, Sean followed Karen with drunken mumbles as she cursed profanities with a bottle in her hand.

"You looked like you were having another bad dream. Although, not near as bad as the one this morning," Hosea informed.

"It's nothin'."

"You're full of shit."

Arthur muffled a laugh as he took another bite of delicious stew. "There's no pullin' the wool over your eyes, old man."

"Dutch and I practically raised you, Arthur. If I'm unable to tell if something's wrong with you, then I did a piss poor job."

"You got a point there."

"Talk to me, son. What's eating you?"

Arthur finished his bowl and sat it to the side. He kept his head lowered, not sure of what to say. He sighed in frustration. "I…I don't know. The nightmare this mornin', it was the worst feelin' I ever felt in my life, and I don't even know why…or what it was. I think…I think everyone was dead…or dyin'. That the gang was…torn apart."

Hosea moved over and sat beside Arthur on the cot, propping his arms on his thighs, slightly bent forward as Arthur was.

"You're worried about the future, sounds like," he said.

Arthur shrugged. "I guess."

"That ill-fated ferry job…I feel…well, sometimes I feel it will be the beginning of the end for us all."

Arthur swallowed. "Yeah, me too."

"But…we've been through tough times like this before. We just have to stick together and be smart. It will blow over. Don't let it eat at you, Arthur. We'll make it."

Hosea was more often a realist over an optimist, but Arthur felt his father-figure was trying to comfort him more than anything, and he was moved by that.

" _I wish I had acquired wisdom at less of a price."_

"Thanks, Hosea."

Hosea touched his back. "Get some rest."

He rose to his feet. Arthur looked up at him, his heart felt more at ease now, but a sudden thought crossed his mind.

"Hosea."

"Yeah?"

"The King will always lose his way if he loses his Compass. Don't let him seek solace with the Viper, for it will unleash the darkness that lurks within his heart."

Arthur gauged Hosea's expression, saw confusion fall over him. "You know what it means? Is it from a book or something?"

"Not that I've ever read. Where did you hear it?"

Arthur knew if he told Hosea or anyone else about the well-dressed stranger that they would think he had gone completely insane. Which was probably true. He weakly waved him off. "It's nothin'. Forget 'bout it."

"Sounds like a riddle of some sorts."

Arthur silently nodded. He assumed as much, considering the man who first spoke them. He just didn't know what the words _meant_. He would have to figure it out on his own.

"Get some rest, Arthur."

Arthur watched as Hosea walked away. With a tired sigh, Arthur laid down once more. His stomach churned with apprehension and he prayed he wasn't plagued by more confusing dreams.

* * *

When dawn broke, Arthur rode out to do some hunting and clear his head. His normal hunting grounds had been down by the Dakota River, but now Arthur wanted to avoid it altogether. He chose a new area instead, east into the plains and ragged buttes where the bison roamed.

He didn't see much wildlife in the dim morning light, the temperatures just sharp enough to bite skin and give a chill. He avoided the buffalo, remembering the recent hunt he had with Charles with the buffalo poachers.

Arthur started to think he wouldn't have much luck in hunting out here, but he didn't want to return to camp just yet. While letting Ace graze on the green grass of plains, Arthur perched himself on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Heartlands. He wrote in his journal. His thoughts mostly, but he also tried to remember every detail of the dream he had, and the voices he heard. Most of the voices he knew, but a couple were unknown to him, although their words were just as impacting as the familiar ones.

He doodled afterwards. The pencil scratched dark lines on a fresh page, forming shapes…symbols. He studied them. He drew a crown, a rattler poised to strike, and a compass.

The more Arthur stared at the drawings, the more his head hurt. They burned into his eyes, his hearing ringing, faint voices and cries and gunshots filling his head, until the caws of retreating crows in the sky snapped him back to reality.

Slapping the journal shut, Arthur got to his feet and dusted himself off. He walked over to Ace and mounted the steed, kicking the horse into a gallop to return to camp.

He lost track of time. It was mid-morning now. And he returned to camp without any food.

When he arrived, he hitched his horse and dismounted. He immediately took notice of all the activity within camp, activity that normally didn't stir until afternoon. Arthur scratched the light scruff on his chin, looking around. Were they packing?

While heading for Dutch's tent, he nearly barreled into Sadie, who carried a saddle.

"Oh, sorry Mrs. Adler, I-"

He trailed off when he caught her eyes. There was still so much sorrow there, but Arthur saw the burning of…something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it stirred something within him.

" _They turned me into a monster, Arthur…"_

Just like the sudden, overcoming emotions that hit him with John yesterday, Arthur felt just the same right here suddenly. He felt he needed to hug her. He barely knew the woman, but could feel…knew this deep respect and some sort of affection that he held in his heart.

In the weeks since they've saved her, Sadie had slowly integrated into the group. She didn't cry as much, but she still mourned her husband fiercely. She was more brazen, hardened, with a fire in her eyes that Arthur suddenly understood on a much deeper level.

"What?" Sadie asked.

Arthur stuttered. "U-Uh, s-sorry, Sadie. Excuse me."

As he slipped by, he realized he used her first name that time. He had never done that before. As he neared Dutch's tent, he heard Hosea's voice, slightly raised and tense.

"So…we just keep heading east. Is that the plan?"

"For now," Dutch said.

Arthur came around, the flap open, his father figures sitting across from each other. Dutch had a large map spread out, looking it over. Hosea barely acknowledged Arthur, and appeared to be lacking a good morning coffee.

"And when do we stop? When we reach Paris?" he grumbled.

Like instinct, Dutch reacted with a quip. "Oh, that'd be nice, join the Commune? We stop when we find someplace sensible, shake them that's following us and lie low."

Arthur looked between them. "So, we movin'?"

Dutch barely nodded. "Yeah."

Hosea gestured around them. "And this is lying low? Turned into a bunch of killers, I mean it. We ain't even got the delusion of being anything but a bunch of killers."

Dutch's patience started to wear thin. "We are just tryin' to survive, Hosea…we don't have a choice. This'll end soon."

Hosea got up out of his chair and pointed at Dutch. "Damn right, it will!"

He left the tent behind, leaving Arthur feeling like a child stuck in-between the argument of his parents. He turned to Dutch, seeing his mentor slightly shake his head as another joke found its way to his lips.

"Constipated as usual."

Arthur joined him at the map, curious to see what was up. There were a few areas marked already, probably all recently debated on which would be their next settlement.

"I had a talk with Micah last night…bout his behavior," Dutch said. "And well, he told me of a spot we can lie low. Look here." He pointed to a place to the south of the map. "Dewberry Creek, he said."

Arthur didn't like the idea, or the person behind it, and sighed. "Okay…"

"Maybe you and Charles can go take a look? Clear off anyone you find before the whole lot of us move in looking so conspicuous."

"And how we gonna do that?"

Arthur knew the joke before his father figure even said it. "I don't know. Start dancing?"

Arthur clenched his jaw, backing out of the tent. "Looks like I've turned into the goddamn errand boy."

Dutch rose and followed him out. "You have turned into my son! You worry, because I worry. We are just the same!"

That conversation felt eerily familiar, but Arthur cast it aside. He found Charles Smith nearby helping pack up some of the camp's supplies.

"Hey Charles, come on. I need you for something."

The burly half-Native American, half-black man stopped what he was doing and came over to Arthur.

He gave a curious look, but didn't question Arthur. "Okay, sure."

Charles was reliable, collected, and always ready to take action. There were few men that Arthur knew who would have his back no matter what, and Charles was one of them. He respected the man, not just for his prowess, but for his loyalty and friendship. Arthur was always happy to ride with him.

" _You're lucky. You got the chance to…to do something better…"_

Charles picked up his weapons nearby and they walked to their horses. They mounted up after checking their horses over and making sure they had everything they needed. Arthur led the way. Dewberry Creek was to the southeast, over the state line into the state of Lemoyne.

"So, where are we going?" Charles asked as he moved Taima up beside Ace.

"Find a new spot to camp. After that mess back in Valentine…we have to. S'pose to check out an area called Dewberry Creek."

Charles sounded surprised. "That's south."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, not that. It's just…I've only known Dutch for a few months, but…the way he talks, I never thought I'd see him wanting to head south."

"You ain't the only one," Arthur admitted. "To be honest…every bone in my body's tellin' me not to go south. Like we'll be walkin' into a land of monsters and curses."

"From what I heard…probably."

Arthur chuckled. At least someone agreed with him. Just like the familiar chat with Dutch earlier, this ride seemed familiar. And the farther they rode south, the more his gut twisted. He fleetingly thought back to the well-dressed Stranger, and his words.

" _It's yet to happen, and yet, you've already experienced it."_

Arthur shook the Stranger's lucid, articulate voice from his head after Charles called his name.

"Huh?"

Charles dark eyes studied him as they cantered along the prairie trails. "You alright? You haven't been yourself for a couple of days."

"I'm fine."

Charles wasn't fooled. Arthur wasn't surprised by it either.

"It's not my place to pry. I'm just…concerned."

Arthur weakly laughed. "Have I become the camp gossip with my bad dream and goin' off on Micah?"

"He had it coming. Besides…I think most folks are just worried about you just the same."

"Nah."

Charles slightly shook his head. "Whatever you say. Just remember that I will help you with whatever I am able to."

"I appreciate that, Charles. For now, let's just see what we can find for a new camp. Folks are countin' on us."

"Understood."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am very sorry for the wait on this chapter! Each time I tried to work on it, something would come up or I was sick and omg O.o Anyways, I hope this was worth the wait. Sorry it's a little short! ^^' The storyline from the game will start changing more once they reach Clemens Point, btw! Thanks for reading and being so patient! Have a good weekend! :D


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